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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798155">without a mixture of madness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elumish/pseuds/elumish'>elumish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stargate SG-1, Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adoption, Gen, Minor Character Death, of sorts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:20:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elumish/pseuds/elumish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack gets the call five minutes before he’s scheduled to call Sam.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lydia Martin &amp; Stiles Stilinski, Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>598</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>without a mixture of madness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jack gets the call five minutes before he’s scheduled to call Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He considers not picking it up, because he has to goddamn schedule calls with Sam, and they’ve had to cut two of the last three short because of work--one issue on her end, one issue on his--but he only gives himself two rings of being annoyed before answering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O’Neill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” the voice on the other end says. It’s a male voice, a teenager maybe, sounding young and a little scared. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack</span>
  </em>
  <span> O’Neill, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Who’s calling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles. Um, Stiles Stilinski. I’m not--you don’t know who I am, but I’m--did you have a sister named Natalie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack freezes, midway through the motion of checking his watch. He hasn’t heard that name, not in this context, since--well, since before Charlie. “Has something happened to Natalie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She--look, I’m really not the person who should be having this conversation, but things--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Natalie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid sucks in a breath. “Right. Mrs. Martin--Natalie--I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>am not up for making this call. There was a tree, and I don’t know why they took her, I don’t--I know why they took my dad, we’re--</span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sorry. Mrs. Martin was killed in a freak sinkhole a few hours ago, and I can’t get in touch with Lyda’s dad, and Lydia gave me your name and I found your contact information in her mom’s Rolodex, because apparently someone in the United States still has a Rolodex, and anyway, is there any way you can come to California and temporarily take custody of Lydia, because I have no idea what’s going to happen to her otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack doesn’t know who Lydia is--he can guess from context, but he hadn’t even known Natalie had a kid, much less how old she is--but he gets to his feet, groping around for his keys. “Okay. It’ll take me some time to get to California. Is Lydia around? Can you put her on the phone for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, one sec, I--Lydia, I got your uncle. Can you talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her uncle. Jesus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack hears some background noise--a girl talking, and the same kid who’d been talking to him, muffled like the phone is pressed up against something--and then a girl’s voice says, “Jack O’Neill? My name is Lydia Martin. My mom was Natalie Martin. I don’t know you, but my mom talked about you, and I have no idea where the fuck my dad is, so I was hoping you could keep me from having to go to a foster home, at least for the time being.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sounds like a teenager, at least--not the little kid he was frankly afraid of her being--and she sounds just like Natalie did at that age. Not that he’d seen Natalie a lot then; they had an eleven year age difference, and so by the time she was a teenager he had been out of college and in the Air Force and not going home much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have somewhere safe to stay in the meantime?” His phone vibrates with another call--Sam, shit, he’s supposed to have a call with Sam right now--but he forces himself to keep his attention on the girl who’s apparently his niece. “Is there someone you can stay with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m staying with Stiles and hoping nobody notices neither of us has parents at the moment.” There’s a noise in the background, like something breaking, and her voice turns urgent as she says, “I have to go. I’ll text you the address. Just...let me know if you’re going to show up or not, and when. I’ll figure something out if you don’t, but I’d rather know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talk to your wife or your whatever and then decide, it’s fine, just let you know once you’ve decided.” There’s another breaking sound, and she says, “I have to go,” and hangs up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack stands in the middle of the room for a minute, holding his keys in one hand, then sinks back down on his couch and calls Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daedalus</span>
  </em>
  <span> is in orbit, so he’s beamed up and then down to Cheyenne Mountain and then takes a military transport to Northern California; it gives a fairly reasonable length of time for travel without actually taking too long for him to get to his niece. They offer him a driver, perks of his rank, but he just signs out a car and drives himself up to Beacon Hills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s someone hanging out outside of the address Lydia gave him, and he looks a bit older than Jack expected based on Stiles’s voice, but Jack is pretty sure he can’t judge the age of anyone between sixteen and twenty-five at this point. They all look young to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Jack has gotten out of the car, the guy has unfolded himself from the exterior wall and loped over. “Stiles?” Jack asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy shakes his head. “He’s inside. You O’Neill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You the bouncer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone has to look after them.” He gestures towards the door. “Just don’t fuck up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On that cheery note, Jack heads over to knock on the door; someone calls, “Yeah, come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opens when Jack turns the handle, and the house smells like food, something tomato-y. He follows the smell into a kitchen, where a teenage boy is standing at the stove, stirring something in a big pot. Without turning around, the boy says, “Derek, you don’t need to keep--” Jack must catch his eye, because he spins, tomato sauce spattering on the floor from the wooden spoon clutched in his hand. “Shit. Fuck.” He spots the tomato sauce and repeats, “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Jack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cough, and then the teenager reaches back blindly to stick the spoon back in the pot. “Yeah, I should hope so. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lydia</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teenager still hasn’t introduced himself, so Jack asks, “Are you Stiles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, right. Yes.” Stiles offers a hand. “Stiles Stilinski. Thanks for, you know, showing up. I’m not really sure what Lydia would have done, because we still can’t get in touch with her dad.” A timer goes off behind him, and he makes a face and turns back towards the stove. “Sorry, I need to--” He waves an absent hand, then pulls a pan of what looks like meatballs out of the oven and dumps them in the pot of tomato sauce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cooks like he’s been doing it for himself for a while, and Jack thinks of Lydia’s comment about nobody noticing that neither of them have parents. He hadn’t thought much of it at the moment, having bigger concerns, but now he wonders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are there any adults that I can talk to, here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line of Stiles’s shoulders goes rigid, and in a voice that isn’t nearly as casual as he’s clearly aiming for, he says, “I’m sure you’ll have to, at some point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Stiles seems inclined to continue to play dumb, so Jack specifies, “You have any parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles lets out a sharp breath, and then Natalie’s voice says, “Stiles, I don’t appreciate being called like--oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack turns to see a redhead teenage Natalie standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at him, and it’s disconcerting as hell, because he hadn’t thought he’d remembered Natalie’s face that well, but she looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>just like her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, hair color aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His niece--Lydia--stares at him for a moment with something vulnerable in her expression, and then that vulnerability is swept aside and she fixes a look of haughty superiority on her face to say, “You must be Jack O’Neill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to hear about Natalie.” Jack wants to approach her, but she looks like she wouldn’t appreciate the closeness or the touch, and that too is a sharp reminder of Natalie, who was always far less tactile than him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s uncomfortable here in a way he rarely is, not since he made major or so; he learned how to fake comfort until he learned it for real, and the rest of the time he can usually get by on bravado. But not here, looking on the face of his dead sister’s daughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t need to look after me for long,” Lydia says, sweeping past him towards the kitchen. “This is mostly just a paperwork thing, until we figure out where my dad is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your parents were divorced?” Jack asked, because he can’t think of another reason why she wouldn’t be able to contact her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad decided he preferred his secretary to my mom, and my mom decided she preferred not being cheated on to living with my dad, so….” She tosses her hair, turning a sharp smile on Jack. “Not that it really matters now, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a mess if Jack has ever heard one, and not a situation he’s too keen on sending a kid back into, but he’s not really sure what the other option is. He doesn’t know her, not really, and as soon as they locate her father, she’ll be going into his custody. “I can look after you as long as you need me to,” he says, addressing the first issue. “I’m stationed in DC, but I can figure out working remotely, at least temporarily.” He looks at Stiles, who is pointedly dealing with whatever is going on at the stove. “How about you? Do you have anyone to look after you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles’s shoulders go up again. “I’ll figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a no, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, at least Jack has always liked kids. “I’ll stay with the two of you, then, or I can get another couple of hotel rooms for you.” They don’t look like they’re together, at least based on the fact that they haven’t touched that he’s seen, but he’s not sure what he’d do if they asked for a joint room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles’s head goes up at that, and he turns, his eyes going to Lydia before he focuses on Jack. “I don’t--I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>uncle,” Stiles hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia turns her attention fully on Stiles, and Jack has the feeling that they’ve forgotten he’s there, at least a bit. “What exactly are you planning on doing, then? How long do you expect it to take them to put two and two together and realize that your dad being dead means that you don’t have an adult guardian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and having your uncle look after me for three days is really going to solve that problem.” He presses the meat of his palms to his eyes. “Fuck. Look, Lydia, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll figure my shit out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or you can both come with me,” Jack offers. “I’m a licensed foster parent.” He and Sam had both gottened licensed after Janet adopted Cassie, and, frankly, he likes kids. He especially likes kids who look after his niece even when their life also seems to be going to hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles still looks reluctant, so Jack says, “Let me help both of you until we find Lydia’s dad, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The paperwork to get custody of both of them takes less time than it probably should, though that seems to be primarily because an astounding number of relevant adults seem to have recently been killed in this town and nobody is doing an iota of due diligence, and before the end of the day Jack finds himself with two teenagers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They consider staying at Stiles’s house so they don’t all have to relocate, but considering that the only free room is Stiles’s newly deceased father’s, that didn’t seem like the best idea, so Jack ends up getting them another couple of hotel rooms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles asks for a third copy of his hotel room key card--the second staying with Jack, just in case--and then hands it over to Lydia with a pointed look in Jack’s direction, as though daring him to say something. Jack just shrugs and vows to himself to make sure to get them some condoms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t delude himself into thinking he’ll be able to stop them if they really want to hook up, and two traumatized kids giving each other a little comfort is the least of his worries at the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much higher on Jack’s list of concerns is finding Natalie’s ex-husband. He doesn’t seem like an ideal parent, if what Lydia said is anything to go off of, but unless he’s actually abusive, Jack isn’t sure what other option he has. Jack can’t keep Lydia indefinitely, not while there’s a living parent in the picture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that the shmuck is making it easy to get a hold of him. If Jack had a kid who--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hic Sunt Leones.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack spends almost two fruitless hours trying not to swear at very competent Air Force officers before giving up and ordering them to call him if they find the man, no matter the time. Then he heads across the hall to knock on the door to Stiles’s room, figuring that’s where he has the best chance at finding both of them simultaneously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles opens the door--thankfully fully clothed and showing no signs of having been interrupted mid-anything--and he blinks up at Jack for a moment before appearing to register who Jack is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says, stepping back so Jack can enter. “For a second I--” Stiles shakes his head. “Never mind. Do you need something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is Lydia here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles glances behind him. “Yeah. She’s asleep, finally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not,” Lydia says, sounding like she just woke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles makes a face, then says, “Yeah, okay, apparently not. You can come in if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Jack walks in, Lydia is sitting up in the bed, knees pulled up to her chest. She’s also fully clothed, thank god, though she leans against Stiles when he sits down next to her. Jack is still not sure if they’re in a romantic relationship, but the kid seems to be here for Lydia, which is all Jack will ask for at the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack turns the chair at the desk so he can sit facing them. “I haven’t been able to locate your father,” he says, and Lydia sits up straighter. “I’m going to keep looking, but it would be helpful if you could give me any more information about where he might be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia meets his eye like it’s a challenge. “Last I heard, he was living in San Diego, but he travels to offices in Madrid, Singapore, and Santiago, Chile.” She says the last word with the correct accent and intonation, but she manages to make it vicious, and she sounds so much like Natalie, his heart aches a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t get to know Natalie as well as he should have, and he never really thought too much about it, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he always thought he would die first. He was supposed to die first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How often are you in touch with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He deposits a thousand dollars in my bank account every month, because he thinks that’s a functional equivalent to actual parenting. I spoke to him on the phone two days after my birthday, because he thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> my birthday, and then he handed the phone over to his secretary, who tried to connect by talking to me about skincare routines. His secretary is twenty-six, by the way, and the person he left my mom for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is such a mess. “Do you want to live with your father?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t clear that I had another option.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By all rights, she shouldn’t, not least of which because Jack is the head of the Department of Homeworld Security and lives across the country from his wife, who doesn’t know these kids, but Jack increasingly hates the idea of giving his niece over to this clearly terrible father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he has no idea what to do with the other kid, who looks red-eyed and exhausted and who cooked for himself like he had been doing it for a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Jack can say anything, Lydia says, “Look, he’s not a great dad, but I only have a couple years before college. Stiles needs help more than I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lydia--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you expecting to go?” Lydia demands, pulling away from Stiles to look at him. “Do you think they’re really going to let you live alone in your house with your dad gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles looks away from her, and when that brings his eyes to Jack, he jerks his head away entirely so he’s staring at the drawn curtains. “Maybe I’ll shack up with Derek like Isaac does,” he says finally, in a voice that’s clearly aiming for casual. It doesn’t quite get there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles throws himself away from Lydia and off the bed, and Jack has to resist the urge to stand up. He doesn’t know enough about what’s going on, and he has to let it play out. Preferably without freaking out either of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want another dad,” Stiles snaps, and then he sweeps past Jack to go lock himself inside the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the bathroom door slams shut, Lydia sags, burying her head against her knees. She looks small, and Jack feels out of his depth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when Lydia speaks, her voice is wry. “Well,” she says, “that went well.” She looks up at him. “Sorry that you got pulled into this mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “My mom didn’t really talk about you. Nothing bad, just little enough I didn’t think you would come. I don’t know anything about you. Is there a wife in the picture, or kids?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kids,” Jack says, and it only hurts a little. “I am married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She know you took in two random teenagers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door to the bathroom opens, and Stiles walks back out into the bedroom. His face is red and blotchy like he’s been crying, his hair sticking up like he ran a wet hand through it. There’s something solid in his expression, though, when he looks at Jack to say, “Please give us some time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Jack stands, pushing the chair back in. “Don’t leave your room or Lydia’s without telling me first. Knock on my door if you need me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack is on DC time, but he’s also used to operating on odd hours, so he sets up in his hotel room the SGC version of a temporary SCIF using a modified force field. His phone connects directly to a Homeworld Security satellite, and so he doesn’t need to worry about secure communication even without a hardwired phone line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two days ago, SG-14 discovered a cache of old Ori weaponry on a planet they hadn’t thought the Ori had ever touched, so he puts in another few hours arguing with the IOA over what to do with it, which boils down to the fact that nobody has gotten them to work and it’s better if the technology stays in Area 51 for the time being rather than being funneled into the private sector like they are occasionally wont to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack had never thought his job would involve so much arguing with bureaucrats. Some days he’d be a lot happier if he could shoot the lot of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s after nine by the time he gets off the phone with them, because for some reason they want to be on calls until midnight their time, but even though it’s after ten where Sam is, he settles against the headboard of the bed and calls her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She picks up after two rings, yawning midway through her hello.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack smiles despite everything, despite himself. “Still awake there, Carter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For all my sins.” Sam sighs. “How is your niece?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a young Natalie. It’s...disconcerting.” Jack drags a hand through his hair. “Her dad sounds like a piece of shit. I feel like I should have known that before now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you lose touch with your sister, anyway? I’ve never heard you talk about her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were never close, and after Charlie…” Jack really doesn’t want to talk about this. “Lydia was born a year before Charlie died, but I guess I hadn’t talked to Natalie since then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam makes a sympathetic noise, then asks, “Any luck finding the father?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam hesitates, and Jack waits, wanting to know what could be tying her up in knots. Finally, she says, “You want to take her in, don’t you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack hasn’t let himself think about that too hard, not while they’re trying to find her father to transfer custody off to. The idea of having another child makes his chest ache with the thought of what could have been if he hadn’t fucked up all those years ago, and getting too attached only to lose her…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s complicated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just let me know if you want to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Carter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam laughs. “Now go to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still on East Coast time, Jack is up by four after forcing himself to go back to sleep a couple times. He puts in a few hours of work with the temporary SCIF up, but when the kids don’t knock on his door by eight he goes to wake them up. It’s been a long time since he operated on a teenager’s schedule--Cassie had only been a couple years, and she hadn’t lived with him on a permanent basis--but he wants to make sure they actually eat something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhat to his surprise, they’re in different rooms; neither look like they slept, and Lydia in particular looks pale and wan, drowning in what looks like a man’s sweatshirt. She blinks at him, then says, “Give me twenty minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meet me in the hallway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, yes sir,” she mutters, then shuts the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles is fully clothed, hair dishevelled as though he’s been running his hands through it. He has his phone clutched in his hand, with a grip that looks a little too tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“DId you find Lydia’s dad?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack shakes his head. “Not yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s not an idiot,” Stiles says, standing there in the doorway to his hotel room. “He thinks she’s an idiot, but she’s not. She’s the smartest person I know. Just...don’t forget that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it,” Stiles insists like Jack hadn’t said anything. “I know she’s a girl, and she’s pretty, and you’re...old, but she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>brilliant</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’s going to change the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My wife has a PhD in astrophysics,” Jack tells him, “and she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met in my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Stiles says, fierce. And then he blinks, and all of that fierceness flees into something smaller. “I’m not expecting you to keep me, once Lydia’s with her dad. You don’t need to tell Lydia that, because it’ll just make her feel bad, but I know you just took me in because of Lydia, and that’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t plan to just dump you on the side of the road,” Jack says, a little offended that he would suggest that. Jack did take the kid in because of Lydia, but he’s not going to just dump him like a troublesome pet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles waves his hands, his phone still clutched in one of them. “No, no, I’m not--I don’t mean to offend you, I’m not saying you’re--I just want to make it clear that I’m absolving you of responsibility. You don’t--I mean of course you don’t owe me anything, but...you don’t owe me anything. I just want to make that clear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack keeps his voice level to say, “This is part of a longer conversation we’ll need to have, but for right now I want to reassure you that I’m going to make sure you have a good, stable home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid looks down and away, chewing on his lower lip, and he looks suddenly, alarmingly like Charlie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s the wrong age, but Jack never saw Charlie at that age, and it’s hard not to picture him looking like this, scared and shy. He had been an outgoing and gregarious child, but there had been times, especially when Jack had gotten back from deployment and it had been a while since Charlie had seen him, that he had been shy and uncertain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack can’t get attached. This kid isn’t Charlie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Stiles says. “The only way out is through and all that. Let’s get this clusterfuck on the road.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack gets the call while they’re eating breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps away to take it, which turns out to be a good thing, because it involves an apologetic officer telling him that a small plane went down just east of Santiago, Chile, and the bodies were just identified a few hours ago. An American businessman and his young secretary, among others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack thanks the Captain, then hangs up and swears at his phone for a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looks back at Lydia and Stiles, they’re eating waffles off of the same plate, even though there’s another plate of other food in front of Lydia. Stiles is laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack takes a deep breath and calls Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She picks up after two rings, and he starts with, “This is personal, and I’m in an unsecured location.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it. What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looks like this custody might be a little less temporary than I expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam sighs. “They still haven’t found the father?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s...not exactly the problem.” Jack rakes a hand through his hair, glancing over at Stiles and Lydia again. They still don’t look like they’re paying any attention to them, but he still needs to be delicate about this, just in case. “There was a plane crash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I want to keep her, if she’s up for it. And if you’re up for it. I know we talked about it after Cassie left for college and we decided it didn’t make sense, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t you adopting a dog without telling me,” Sam says. “She’s your niece. We’ll figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And there’s another thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you tell me you got someone pregnant--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack laughs, and he can hear Sam laughing too. “Not quite. But I do want us to take in someone else, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already have guardianship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bring them here, then, if you can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a wave of relief that goes through him, even though he knew Sam would back his play. “Sure thing. I think you’ll like them. My niece is apparently some sort of whiz kid. Her friend practically venerates her, was talking up her brilliance to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like my kind of girl. Lydia, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lydia Martin. And Stiles Stilinski.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Martin.” Jack hears the faint clacks of Sam typing. “I’ve heard of her, I think. There’s some math research I was following, and that name was on it. It was high level, and I was surprised to see a name I didn’t recognize. It’s not that big a circle, people who can do this kind of work, and I’ve read most of the papers that are out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything relevant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too soon to tell. But if it is the same Lydia Martin, she’s a lot more than just a whiz kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Copy that.” Lydia and Stiles are looking over at him now, so he says, “I’ll let you know the plan. I’ll have to see what social services says about taking them out of the state this soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sam says. “Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack hangs up, then stuffs his phone in his pocket and heads over to the table. The kids aren’t even pretending not to be watching him at this point, though Stiles looks away sharply when Jack sits down. He stabs a too-big piece of waffle and stick it into his mouth, chewing aggressively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me guess,” Lydia says, before Jack can say anything, “he decided you should keep me, and he can’t be bothered with me at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Lydia--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why exactly do you look like somebody--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit,” Stiles breathes, eyes fixing back on Jack’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia’s entire body tenses, like she’s readying herself for an attack or for orders, and it’s the wrong reaction from a girl in her situation, very recent death of her mother notwithstanding. It’s a trained response, not an innate one, and she shouldn’t have that training.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s not the priority right now, so instead of poking that wound he says, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your father died in a plane crash in Chile two days ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t scream,” Lydia says nonsensically, and then she turns wide eyes on Stiles to say, “Of all the times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better than you being in that plane with him,” Stiles says pragmatically. “What now? Are you bringing us back to Beacon Hills, or...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking,” Jack says slowly, hoping this doesn’t spook them, “that the two of you could stay with me longer term.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia starts crying, just silent tracks of tears running down her face, but it’s Stiles who says, “You don’t know us. Why do you give a shit, much less want to...adopt us, or whatever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack isn’t planning on adopting them, at least not right now, and they’ll have to work on the swearing, but now isn’t the time to say either of those. Nor is it time to explain the bulk of his motivation, which starts with Char and ends with lie. Instead, he says, “I like kids--and teenagers--and I have the capability to take care of the two of you. Lydia is family, and you clearly matter to her. If you have a better option, I’m not going to be offended, and I’ll help you get settled there. But I’m not going to let the two of you live alone without anyone to take care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t,” Stiles says immediately. “There’s too much--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to stay there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lydia--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia turns sharp eyes on Stiles to say, “It killed my </span>
  <em>
    <span>mom</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> it killed your dad, and do you think it’s over, really? Do you think that everyone’s just going to pack up their marbles and go home now that this one thing was stopped? It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>never going to end</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I, for one, don’t plan on staying there long enough to see what comes next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their parents supposedly died in a freak sinkhole, so that’s another thing to add to the list of things to look into when they’re not around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles hesitates, then says, “I can’t just leave Scott.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to make you come with me,” Lydia tells him. “But are you seriously planning on staying in Beacon Hills for the rest of your life, just for Scott? Live there waiting for the next thing, and the next thing, until you die at thirty cut in half in the forest because someone mistook you for something you’re not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s an extremely specific thing to say, but of all of the arguments, it’s what seems to get through to Stiles, because he flinches, and then his shoulders sag. FInally, he looks at Jack and says, “Yeah, I’ll come too. Where are we going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Final destination is DC,” Jack says, because explaining that he lives in Arlington, Virginia, is a little too complicated right now. “But first, I’d like the two of you to meet Sam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flight to Colorado is only a couple hours, and even though it’s last minute Jack manages to get two seats together and a third only a few rows away. Lydia and Stiles sit together, as curled up around each other as they can manage in airplane seats, and Lydia sleeps. Stiles, from all appearances, doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a ton that has to be done with both of their houses, and with a million other logistical issues, but Jack’s first priority right now is getting them somewhere safer than the hometown evidently is. From what he can tell, there’s been a massive surge in deaths recently, and they are by far not the only orphaned children living in that town. Something’s going on there, something that reeks of not-quite-Tauri, and Jack is about half a second away from sending someone from Homeworld Security to find out what the hell is going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an airman there to pick them up, and Jack sits in the front so the kids can sit together in the back. The airman looks professionally terrified to be sitting so close to a general, and Jack politely doesn’t comment, mostly so he doesn’t run them into a tree trying to keep both eyes on Jack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The mountain, sir?” the airman asks as they pull out of the airport.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Home, here, is Sam’s place; given that she stayed here and Jack didn’t, it made sense to sell his place and keep hers. It’s a bit more suburban than his old place, but given where he lives now, he supposes he doesn’t have a lot of room to complain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The mountain?” Lydia asks from the back of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheyenne Mountain Complex. It’s shared space with NORAD and NORTHCOM Alternate Command,” Jack tells her. “Sam--General Carter--runs the project focused on deep space telemetry, and it was a convenient site for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brigadier General Samantha Carter. My wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia makes a noise but doesn’t say anything else, at least not to him, though Jack can hear a furious whispered conversation between her and Stiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long to get to Sam’s place, and the airman helps Lydia with her bag, and then Jack dismisses him back to the mountain. They keep a second car in the garage for when he’s around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s only one guest bedroom, but there’s a pull-out couch that he’ll stick Stiles on for the time being. They probably won’t be here long, unfortunately, but they all lose their mind when he’s out of DC for too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Either of you hungry?” he asks, even though they ate only a couple hours ago. “I make a mean omelet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No thanks,” Lydia says. Stiles just shakes his head, heading over to sit down on the floor in front of the couch. He crosses his legs and leans over to touch his head to the floor. “Stiles, you losing your mind over there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles sighs audibly. “I’m trying really fucking hard not to have a panic attack, so just...give me a minute, okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it the flight?” Lydia asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles makes an irritated, distressed noise, but doesn’t say anything, and Jack is left staring at him from across the room, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do now. He’s not equipped to deal with a teenager having a panic attack, not one who isn’t in his chain of command.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cassie, for all of her many raised-on-another-planet-induced weirdness, was a relatively easy teenager.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Stiles picks his head up and says, glibly, “Well, that was fun.” He’s pale as hell and is trembling slightly, though he stands and shakes his hands out. “Still want to take me in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Jack can answer, the door opens and then closes, and then Sam calls, “Jack?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam heads into the room, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see her, the way it always is, and he walks over to give her a kiss, because he can’t be in the same room as her for the first time in so long and not kiss her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam smiles into the kiss, then pulls away to say, “It’s good to see you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always, Carter.” But there’s a reason they’re there, so he steps back and says, “Sam, these are Lydia Martin and Stiles Stilinski. Lydia, Stiles, this is Sam Carter, my wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Lydia says. “I know you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do?” Stiles asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Lydia walks up towards Sam. “You’ve published at least a dozen articles in the field of astrophysics, including that groundbreaking one on wormhole physics in--what was that, 1992? And I saw a video of your presentation on that holographic projector.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a fan, Carter.” Jack is honestly impressed that Lydia knows about Sam’s old publications, not least of which because they must be from before she was born.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia makes a face like she’s embarrassed or even ashamed, and Stiles says defensively, “I told you she’s brilliant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam’s eyebrows go up, but all she asks is, “Are you the Lydia Martin who co-authored a paper on Diophantine approximation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles looks at her to demand, “You did what? Why didn’t you tell me that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been a bit busy,” Lydia mutters. “And people aren’t usually interested in listening to me talk about Khinchin’s theorem, so forgive me for not sharing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you end up working on that research?” Sam asks. “It’s not easy to break into research like that when you’re not already part of academia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia flushes a dull pink, then says, “I managed to get a paper published last year, and then I used that as my credentials. They’re all math people, none of them have the presence of mind to verify beyond that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Sam says, “I’m impressed, and I’d love to talk to you about this more later. Number theory isn’t my field of expertise, but I like to think I can hold my own.” Her expression softens. “I’m sorry about your parents. Both of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Stiles says. “Do you mind--can I go outside? I just need to be not in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Jack says, because he thinks it’ll be healthier for the kid to not hole up inside. He’s never understood how teenagers can spend all of their time sitting hunched over in front of a computer screen, mashing on buttons. And the kid seems like he’s on the edge of something, and this may hold it off for a bit. He checks his watch. “Just write down your phone number and be back by six.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles nods, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen from god knows where to scrawl what Jack presumes is his phone number on it. He hands it over to Lydia, who holds it against his shoulder to write on it herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a key by the back door, next to the fake cactus,” Sam tells them. “I keep the door locked, so make sure you take it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay.” Stiles glances out the window, then asks, “Are there woods nearby, or a forest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few miles away,” Jack says. “But I don’t want you going there until one of us takes you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles shakes his head. “No, that’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not going to go into the forest,” Lydia says, and it sounds like it’s directed as much at Stiles as at Jack or Sam. “C’mon, Stiles, I want to see if suburbia looks the same in Colorado as in California.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lydia--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going into a forest if you paid me.” Lydia hooks her arm around Stiles’s, throws Sam and Jack a practiced smile, and tugs him out of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the door shuts, Sam says, “Those are some kids, there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for going along with me on this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam laughs and leans in for another kiss. “We’ve taken in odder people, under odder circumstances.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack grins at her. “Yes, I remember when you kept an Ancient in your basement until he built himself a Stargate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam swats at her shoulder, then says, “She’s your family, Jack. We’ll make it work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm just writing stuff for the sake of writing stuff, at this point.</p><p>This is a weird time. Be well, be safe, stay as healthy as you can.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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